


and they come unstuck

by cappers



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6525781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cappers/pseuds/cappers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cheery tone, the overabundance of exclamation marks, and even the fluorescent yellow of the post-it note – Nico can feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.</p><p>[In which Will, the dog walker Nico hired but has never met, insists on leaving him little notes after every walk. Nico definitely does not find this endearing at all.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the first half of this prompt from [here](http://skatepunkscottyarchive.tumblr.com/post/99532220369/fic-where-they-know-each-other-but-they-dont-know):
> 
> "i hired a dog walking company and i’ve never met the person who comes to my apartment but they leave me really cute notes and they give my dog presents and i kind of love them because my dog does and ALSO one of the artists at this gallery opening is hella cute and i want them to paint me like one of their french girls AU"
> 
> This was going to be a short one-shot, but it spiraled out of my control.

Nico isn’t quite sure how he got stuck with Mrs. O’Leary. Or rather, he doesn’t want to admit to himself how he had ended up with the dog. 

One minute, Percy Jackson had mentioned that he was moving into a ‘no pets’ apartment with Annabeth, which also happened to be the kind that his mother lived in, and so was hoping that one of his friends would take the poodle on. He would really rather not have to give her up to an adoption centre. Please, guys. Any offers?

Nico hazily remembers volunteering himself. A decision made out of goodwill and a love for dogs, probably. He does have a soft spot for Mrs. O’Leary, who would always tread over to nuzzle his hands in hopes of being presented with dog biscuits when he visited Percy, unlike most other dogs who practically dragged their owners by the leash across the road to avoid him. It was definitely _not_ a decision borne yet again out of his pathetic and never-ending crush on Percy. But one certainly worth the grateful smile he got in return. 

Now, a week later, he’s looking on as Percy drops Mrs. O'Leary off at Nico’s apartment and says his tearful goodbyes, promising to visit at least once a week, or, okay, maybe once a fortnight, he’ll have to see what his schedule at work is like, surely you understand that, Mrs. O’Leary. Then Percy takes him aside and gives him a very passionate one-on-one rundown on how to take care of the poodle, complete with a handwritten top ten list of rules and guidelines to follow. This is her favourite dog food brand, and this is her favourite flavour. She only eats dog biscuits from this brand. Take her on walks at least four days a week because she's an excitable dog and failure to do so may or may not result in excess energy at night and some broken lamps in the morning. Nico appreciates Percy's dedication to his soon-to-be ex-dog, but he spends the talk mostly appreciating other things, namely the way Percy’s biceps looks in that blue t-shirt he’s wearing. So Nico nods along dutifully, okays and hums in agreement at hopefully the right intervals, and generally lets everything Percy is saying float right out of his head. 

It isn’t as if he was a stranger to living with dogs. His father has a Rottweiler guard dog that barks so loudly it’s as if the noise is coming out of three mouths. Hades also, for some inconceivable reason, keeps several poodles just like Mrs. O'Leary around the house. Probably his stepmother's idea, or whatever. But then again, Nico’s daily interaction with those dogs, back when he was living in that house, had consisted solely of him throwing them some chew toys every now and then, and shooing them off the driveway so that Jules-Albert, his father’s chauffeur, wouldn't accidentally run over them. He didn't actually have to _take care_ of them. There were other people around to do just that.

It’s the night after that, while he was scooping Mrs. O’Leary’s poop from his previously pristine floor, that the responsibility that accompanied with what he had offered to do struck him. Gods, how is he supposed to look after a dog? Even the cactus he had in high school had died on him. Clearly, he isn’t very suited to taking care of actual living things. 

_And there was that matter with the walks_ , Nico considers as he looked down at Mrs. O’Leary enthusiastically humping his leg. He’s busy enough with his final year of college as it is, not to mention all the errands his father keeps having Nico run for him.

Nico and his father has never been the best of friends. Mostly, they tolerated each other’s continued presence under the same roof. But some years ago, back when Nico was moving out of a house that he could never really bring himself to think of as a home, his father had surprisingly taken a half-day at work so he could see Nico off. In what was either an attempt at making amends or a temporary lapse of judgment, Hades had handed over a credit card to his teenaged son who was heading off to college alone, and told him to use it as he saw fit. 

And there, Nico realises, is the solution to one of his canine problems.

Sure, he can just ask his friends to walk his new dog for him if he, y'know, had any. Outside of the group of friends he shares with Percy, anyway, and he can’t possibly ask one of them to do it, lest it get around that he took on a burden he apparently couldn't handle, just for Percy. He doesn’t need any more understanding glances from Hazel and Piper. What he does need, then, is someone else to do these walks. An outsider.

Nico doesn’t have a lot of spare cash. He also doesn't like to waste money and has never used his card for anything other than necessary living expenses, so he feels a little bad about what he’s about to do. But really, this probably counts as a necessary living expense. Hades will probably see it that way. His father has people in his house who he too had hired precisely to carry out this task. His father, who had never married his mother. Who, with all his wealth and power, couldn't keep her from death. Who paid minimal attention to him and Bianca in the years prior and after, and likely forgets about their existence from time to time.

Huh. On second thought, Nico doesn’t really feel bad at all. 

Thus, after convincing himself of the logical necessity of a professional dog walker, Nico picks up the phone and dials the number for the first dog-walking agency he finds on the Google.   

 

 

 

Nico is a little surprised at how streamlined the entire process ends up being. Everything was sorted in just under twenty minutes. They set the schedule for Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday mornings. On those days, the agency will send over a walker – the same one everyday barring any personal emergencies, they told him, in order to build a rapport with the pet – to pick up Mrs. O’Leary, walk her for an hour or so, and drop her back at the apartment. Payments will be made monthly, direct debited from his credit card. 

There is a slight snag, though. 

Nico has morning classes most days of the week, and will already have rushed out of the house, a slightly under-toasted piece of toast in his mouth, by the time the walker arrives. He isn’t really sure if he should be leaving his spare key outside for some random stranger who in all likelihood might be a serial killer or gods-know-what, but, well, what can you do? This professional dog walking thing is the best answer he can think of, and beggars can’t be choosers. At least there’s a lock on his bedroom door that necessitates a different key, so as long as Nico doesn’t leave valuables in his miniscule living room and kitchen, he should be fine on the thievery front. It isn’t like he even owns a TV. If the walker manages to make off with his IKEA couch or his fridge in broad daylight, then Nico figures they probably deserve it for the effort expended alone. 

So when Wednesday morning comes, Nico fills Mrs. O’Leary’s food bowl, downs a glass of milk, miraculously manages to not choke to death, leaves the spare key under the doormat as he’d told the agency he would, then dashes off to class. 

He really hopes he wouldn’t come back to a couch-less apartment.

 

 

 

That evening, he comes back to something even worse: a friendly note.

It reads: 

_Hey there!_ _I had a blast walking with Mrs. O’Leary! We had a great time together, and here’s to hoping there’ll be many more to come!_

_– Will_

Oh, my gods.

The cheery tone, the overabundance of exclamation marks, and even the fluorescent yellow of the post-it note – he can feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

‘Hey, girl,’ he mutters to Mrs. O’Leary, patting her head with one hand while putting the note back on the dining table with the other.

Gods, he is _starving_. He’d been cooped up in class all day, and – huh, did he even eat anything today, apart from his milk this morning? Does that count as eating? Probably not. He opens his fridge, then realises there is nothing in there apart from the aforementioned milk, and promptly closes it again.

‘Instant noodles it is,’ he declares to Mrs. O’Leary. She looks up at him, tongue and tail wagging in unison. If dogs could beam, this is probably what it would look like.

_At least one of us is having a good day_ , he thinks as he gets out the kettle.

 

 

 

To his horror, the notes keep coming.

Half of them were anecdotes about what happened during the walks, such as this one:

_We played catch at the park today and Mrs. O’Leary is truly at the top of the game. A veritable gymnast dog, if I’d ever seen one. I foresee gold medals in her future._

Or this one: 

_Mrs. O’Leary seems to be a fan of interspecies friendships. She played with some ducks today, and was even paddling around with them in the pond. Looks like she really loves swimming, by the way._

It figures. If Nico has to pick one dog in this world that enjoys swimming, he’d place his bet on the one raised by Percy Jackson.

And if the walk went by uneventfully, then this Will guy apparently has an endless supply of dog jokes to bust out for Nico instead. He seemed to be especially proud of this one:

_What did the dog say to the tree?_

_Bark!_

It’s accompanied by a surprisingly well-drawn picture of a dog – you guessed it – barking at a tree. 

It definitely did not get a chuckle out of Nico. More like a scoff, really.

And the latest one, from yesterday, read: 

_Hey, so, remember that story I told you about the ducks last Monday? I was in a pet store yesterday and I saw this cute duck-shaped squeaky toy and, well, I just couldn’t resist._

_P.S. It’s a gift – don’t try to pay me back._

Nico’s eyes wanders over to Mrs. O’Leary, who seems to be trying her hardest to gnaw the plastic duck’s head off. Hopefully that isn’t how she plays with real life ducks.

He leans back onto his couch and let his hand fall onto his lap, where the post-it note he was still holding joined its abominably bright-coloured brethren. Nico has never even met this guy. Sure, Will came on Sunday mornings, but Nico was usually so knackered by his workload and the early morning wake-ups of his weekdays that come weekends, he would sleep in until noon. The last three Sundays, he was greeted with a freshly walked dog wagging her tail by the time he managed to drag himself out of bed and into the kitchen. 

It was a nice gesture, Nico supposes, buying his dog a toy. And, even though he was getting paid for it, Will _has_ been making Nico’s life easier by walking his dog regularly.

He purses his lips, and makes a decision.

The next morning, Nico wakes up fifteen minutes earlier than usual. Mrs. O’Leary licks his face while he fills her food bowl, which he optimistically takes as her approval of his plan. He opens the front door, breathes in the cool morning air, then leaves the apartment. 

He returns ten minutes later with a latte from Starbucks in his hand. Ripping out a page from his notebook, he quickly pens _thanks for the duck_ and places the cup over the note like a sort of makeshift paperweight.

He stands there for a moment, just staring at the note. Then, before he loses his nerve, he turns around and walks out the front door for the second time that morning.

He really hopes the coffee will still be warm by the time Will arrives. 

 

 

 

Nico stays behind after class to do some research for his paper due in four weeks and, after trying to read the same page of his textbook for the twentieth time, leaves the library. Making a pit stop at McDonald’s for dinner, he decides to order eat-in instead of his usual take-away. He sips slowly at his cup of coke after eating his cheeseburger, finishes the coke, waits for the ice to melt, and then drinks that too. Only after he has been sucking air for a full five minutes does he admit to himself that he can’t possibly justify staying out any longer, and heads home.

As soon as he opens the door, Mrs. O’Leary pounces on him with such force that he actually falls over, his ass landing with a loud thump on the doormat. Nico blinks owlishly at the dog, who is alternating between barking loudly in Nico’s face and rubbing her head against his chest.

Gods, he’s left her alone _the whole night_. It’s at least a good four hours past the time he usually arrived home. He’s been so caught up in his own stupid worries over his reply to the stupidly cute notes written by some dog-walking stranger that he forgot to even think about the dog this whole debacle revolved around.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he murmurs, cradling the poodle to his chest as he got back up on his feet. ‘It won’t happen again,’ he promises, and she nuzzles into his t-shirt.

He closes the door behind him and wills himself to not immediately walk over to his dining table. He fails miserably.

_He speaketh! I knew it was only a matter of time before you would start replying. Thanks for the coffee – it really kept my hands warm during the walk._

_P.S. You have nice handwriting._

And if Nico’s cheeks flush after reading that – well, at least there's nobody but Mrs. O’Leary around to see it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little scene turned out way longer than expected and became its own chapter. I don't know how this story keeps getting away from me like this. At this rate this fic is never going to end.

Nico’s morning begins brightly – literally. He groans at the sound of his curtains being drawn back, turning around in his bed on instinct and desperately clutching his duvet over his head as light floods the room. He vaguely hears Mrs. O’Leary barking outside. Briefly, he thinks that maybe something had happened to her and this is Will rushing in to inform him of it, before his brain kicks in and he remembers that despite recent incidents pointing to the contrary, he was actually not stupid enough to give to a stranger the keys to his bedroom, which he locks on Saturday nights in preparation for the arrival of said stranger on Sunday mornings.

And then he remembers someone else who _does_ have his other set of spare keys.

‘Rise and shine,’ Bianca sings as she attempts to gently pry his fingers off the edge of the duvet. ‘Go brush your teeth and get dressed! It’s time for your favourite monthly event.’ His eyes are still closed, but he can hear the teasing smile in her voice. As much as he loathes to admit it, this probably is one of the highlights of his month.

Bianca makes a point of getting the siblings together at least once a month, usually for a Sunday breakfast. The tradition had begun some years back, just after she had legally turned into an adult and Hades had called the two of them into his study – a sufficiently rare event in this household that Nico and Bianca had been slightly alarmed – to discuss inheritance. It was then that they were first informed that they, by the way, weren’t the only children Hades had sired out of wedlock. Bianca and Nico, who had hitherto always been a unit of two, an us-against-the-world duo, approached Hazel cautiously at first, having agreed to Hades’ request that they meet her – who would’ve thought that he was so invested in his kids bonding with one another? Certainly not Nico – but soon welcomed her into their ranks.

Officially, Bianca calls the breakfast a ‘family gathering’ – every time without fail, she gives a cursory invitation to their father and stepmother to join them, notifying them through Charon, Hades’ personal assistant, of the time, place, and date of their brunch. And every time, Charon, in turn, relays back a curt but appropriately apologetic message from Hades and a directive that they enjoy themselves despite his absence, leaving his children to their own devices. And because this is the exact outcome expected by absolutely everyone involved, it is a happy ending for all. It’s probably for the better that Hades and Persephone don’t show up, since the three of them always spend half the meal bonding over Hades’ complete lack of parenting skills and marveling over how they managed to turn out alright in spite of it all.

And that’s pretty much exactly how their breakfast today goes, in addition to other choice topics of conversation.

‘I completely forgot Nico took on Percy’s dog,’ Bianca says to Hazel, shaking her head slightly. ‘When I opened the door and this dog materialised behind it and started howling at me… gods. It looked like it was about to bite my face off. I almost had a heart attack.’ 

‘She’s a poodle,’ Nico notes, amused.

‘But a frightening one! She’s a surprisingly good guard dog.’ Bianca hums in approval. ‘Now I can sleep in peace knowing nobody will be breaking into your apartment.’

Nico sometimes forget that Bianca has never actually met Mrs. O’Leary prior to today, since she’d never been over to Percy’s place. In fact, she’s not at all close to his main group of friends, mostly because she studies in the next state over and hangs out with her own friends over there. This distinction between their respective friendship groups is, Nico wagers, normal for most other families. But because for such a large chunk of his life, Bianca had been the only one there for him, it feels a little foreign to be living in a way that is so utterly disconnected from her now.

‘How is that going, by the way,’ Hazel adds. ‘With Mrs. O’Leary?’

‘We’re good,’ Nico replies. He doesn’t elaborate.

While waiting for the bill, Bianca inquires into her younger siblings’ social lives. Nico tells her that he’s been out for lunch with Reyna exactly twice this month already and thus he is clearly not the social recluse Bianca keeps on insisting he is. Hazel, whose social life is evidently much more promising, mentions that she has a movie date with Frank after this.

‘I’ll walk you there,’ Nico offers.

And it’s when they’re taking a shortcut through a park, halfway to the mall, that Nico feels Hazel slowing down next to him, before coming to a complete halt. He turns to face her, expecting her to be tying her shoelaces.

She’s not.

‘Nico,’ Hazel begins slowly, looking past his shoulders. ‘Isn’t that Mrs. O’Leary?’

He follows her gaze, and feels his heart constrict. Just in the distance, he spots his poodle with a frisbee in her mouth, bouncing towards a blond guy crouching on the ground whose smile is all sunshine and encouragement. Nico notices that the guy’s white t-shirt sets off his tan really nicely, and hates his traitorous brain.

He nods stiffly, pointedly not looking at his sister.

‘Is that… a friend of yours? With her?’

‘That’s…’ he starts, then stops. 

Really, Nico can never lie to Hazel.

‘That’s Will,’ he ends up saying. ‘Probably.’

‘Probably?’

‘I’ve never met him,’ Nico admits. 

‘Your dog is playing frisbee with some guy you’ve never met.’

‘It’s his job,’ Nico protests. He feels her tone is a little unjustified. ‘I hired the guy to walk Mrs. O’Leary.’

‘You… wait.’ And then – ‘But Mrs. O’Leary was still at home when you left, right? How did he get into your apartment?’

‘I leave out the spare key for him.’ 

‘You gave a person you’ve never met unfettered access to your apartment, where you live alone?’ She sounds mildly alarmed.

‘Please stop rephrasing everything I’m saying in the worst possible way,’ he requests. ‘He’s not a thief. He hasn’t stolen anything yet.’ And, to bolster this list of the stellar qualities possessed by Will the dog walker, Nico adds, ‘He bought Mrs. O’Leary a squeaky duck toy.’

Hazel is silent for several long moments, looking uncomprehendingly at Will throwing the frisbee into the air.

‘But you could have just asked me,’ she finally says. ‘Or Jason. Or… well, any of us. You could’ve asked any of us.’

Nico grimaces, shrugging uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t want to burden you guys.’ It’s half true, at least. ‘I took her in, so I wanted to look after her myself.’

‘But this isn’t–’ 

And at that moment, it occurs to him that if they can see Will and Mrs. O’Leary, then Will and Mrs. O’Leary can see them, too. The thought of the dog noticing him, running in his direction, dragging Will with her, meeting Will in real life – suddenly, Nico can’t leave this park fast enough.

‘Let’s go,’ he half-shouts, cutting her off. He swallows, and wills his racing heart to calm itself. ‘Frank’s waiting.’ 

Hazel looks to be on the verge of saying something else, but he looks at her pleadingly, and she sighs.

 ‘Okay,’ she murmurs, dropping the topic. ‘Sure. Frank’s waiting.’ 

‘Don’t–’

‘I won’t mention it,’ she promises, and Nico’s shoulders sag in relief.

 _Someone had to find out eventually_ , he consoles himself, as the two of them walk out of the park. _At least it was Hazel_.

 

 

 

Nico stands in front of his door, not quite sure what to expect.

 _He’s gone_ , Nico tells himself. _I_ _definitely wandered around the mall after dropping Hazel off long enough for the guy to finish up with Mrs. O’Leary. He’s left. I’m sure of it._

But he isn’t. He isn’t sure of it, because who knows what Will does after coming back from the walk? What if he hangs around, sneakily whips himself up a snack with the food in Nico’s pantry and makes himself at home in Nico’s tiny apartment? Maybe he stays back to play around some more with Mrs. O’Leary. How long does it take for him to write those stupid post-it notes he leaves behind, anyway?

Nico feels like maybe he should’ve walked around the mall for another three hours, just to be safe.

_No. That’s dumb. And there’s nothing in my pantry anyway._

He breathes in, then out. Bracing himself, he turns the doorknob, and walks into his apartment.

Mrs. O’Leary barks eagerly in greeting. The sound echoes. There’s no one else around.

Okay. Okay. Cool. He’s cool.

There’s a note, as usual, bright red against the wooden expanse of his dining table.

Will has apparently decided that today is a joke kinda day. There’s a drawing of poodle and a frisbee, and a thought bubble coming from the former.

The text reads:

_I wondered why the frisbee was getting bigger… then it hit me!*_

And underneath that:

_*I brought the frisbee from home. No dogs were harmed in the making of this joke. Please do not fire me._

The corners of Nico’s mouth lift. He puts the note down, and tries not to think of sunshine smiles.


	3. Chapter 3

There is something different today in the way Mrs. O’Leary welcomes Nico back, a low whine and an oddly disappointed lick on his knee through the rip – acquired when he fell while running for the bus, not store-manufactured – in his jeans.

He glances over at the kitchen as he bends down to rub her behind her ears, and glimpses the half-full water bowl and the food bowl he’d filled that morning, now empty. It’s a Friday, so she’s had her walk, too. Everything seems in order, until he stretches back up and realises that perhaps it isn’t.

The note on the dining table is familiar in its placement but so utterly foreign in its colour – plain, ordinary _white_. For the past four weeks, not one of Will’s inane notes had been written on white paper, with the guy gleefully broadcasting to Nico his love for eye-searingly bright colours through his choice of post-it notes. From where he was standing, today’s note seems to have been written on a piece of scrap paper, maybe even on the back of a receipt, judging from its shape.

He crosses the length of the room in a few strides, picking up the note and turning it over to see his hypothesis confirmed; it was, indeed, the receipt for a latte at the nearby Starbucks. Turning it over once again, he finds himself confronted with neat, unfamiliar handwriting, a stark contrast to the messy, cursive scrawl that usually greets him. 

It reads:

_Hi Nico di Angelo. I’m Ethan, substituting for Will Solace today. Will has a fever, so he’s going to be taking the next couple of days off. He personally impressed upon me, via text, the importance of leaving a note for you, so here it is. Mrs. O’Leary behaved well at the park. She’s a good dog. Have a nice day._

He stares at it for several beats.

Despite having had an inkling about this, the intensity of the emotions arising in Nico upon reading the note surprises him.

He’s not worried about Will. Or, well, okay, maybe a little concerned, but people tend to recover from fevers pretty easily, so it’s not too big a deal.

It’s just that somehow, over these past few weeks, Nico’s relationship with Will, the guy who walks his dog, the one who he’d seen from a distance that one time – it’s grown to feel _personal_. And this note hits Nico like a bucket of ice water in his face and his heart, a dizzying reminder that he’d hired Will through an agency that can send anyone else at any time as a replacement. His ties to Will are as thin and as impersonal as can be, able to be terminated at the whims of people who had never met either of them.

Or maybe Will’s schedule will change, and he won’t be able to make early mornings anymore so he’ll ask to get reassigned to someone else, or even quit dog walking altogether, and then where would Nico and Mrs. O’Leary be? Stuck with this Ethan guy forever?

Even Nico realises that it’s probably weird he’s feeling so strongly about this, fraught over the possibility of a stranger being replaced by another in their dog walking duties. But as he looks around the conjoined living room and kitchen, eyeing the letters and textbooks and loose change strewn around all possible surfaces, so distinctly different from the how it had looked when he’d rid it of all portable personal belongings the night before Will had first come, he’s struck by the realisation that this simmering feeling that is not quite anger but almost there, wrapped around frustrated agitation – part of it is directed at himself. A lot of it, actually.

Because try as he might – and, really, he is _trying_ right now – he can't seem to convince himself that Will is essentially just a faceless stranger. When he closes his eyes, that mop of sandy hair and that easy smile, the notes with their dumb dog jokes and loving commentary on Mrs. O'Leary, they come unbidden to Nico and forms a pastiche of a person so authentically real, so known to him. Against all logic, Nico has grown comfortable with Will’s presence in his space.

This Ethan person entering his apartment, albeit with a key that Nico himself had provided, and walking around this room, seeing it in this state – _that_ feels like a violation of his privacy.

But this is what he'd signed up for, and he knows it but he can't accept it, and he hates himself a little for that. 

He doesn't notice Mrs. O'Leary walking up to him until she starts nudging behind his knees with her nose. There's that duck toy in her mouth and when he bends to face her at eye level, she bites down on the plastic softly before letting it fall on the floor. The duck releases a high pitched squeak as it hits the ground, bouncing pathetically several times before coming to a stop underneath the table.   
Nico reaches over for the duck, placing it in front of Mrs. O'Leary while rubbing her back with his other hand. 

She plops down ungracefully, sniffs the toy, and lets out a single bark. 

'Yeah,' Nico agrees, softly. 'Me too.'

 

 

   
Sunday morning comes and goes. Nico trudges out of his room, still rubbing the sleep out of his eye, when he sees yet another white note. 

Mrs. O’Leary barks accusingly at him.

‘Hey,’ Nico protests. ‘It’s not my fault.’

The note is polite and formal and it pisses Nico off because this is exactly what he was expecting at the beginning of all this: a nice, appropriately distant, comfortable relationship between a dog owner and a dog walker built upon a monetary transaction.  

And now that is the last thing he wants. 

 

 

 

That night, Percy and Annabeth visit, three boxes of pizza in hand and Jason in tow.

‘Last minute invite.’ Jason shrugs and, in response to Nico’s questioning look, ‘Piper’s busy tonight.’

This is Percy’s second visit since Mrs. O’Leary first came to live with Nico, so he’s doing pretty well with the whole fortnightly visiting thing, all things considered.

Mrs. O’Leary makes an immediate beeline to Percy, who seems touched until he realises she’s more interested in the pizza than in him. Some choice words from Annabeth convince him to stop sulking, and he morosely walks over to Nico’s dining table to drag two chairs back to where they’ll actually be having dinner.

Jason and Nico watch all this unfold from the couch, which comfortably seats two. They each have an open pizza box in their lap, because the coffee table is only big enough for one pizza box and several cups cleverly positioned around it.

Nico can feel Mrs. O’Leary pawing at his knee.

‘It’s not for you,’ he says, facing her.

And goddamn if he doesn’t hate it when she gives him the literal puppy eyes.

‘You’ll die if you eat this,’ he announces, firmly and slowly, for emphasis.

Next to him, Jason is snickering, and really, Nico did not let Jason into his house, out of the goodness of his heart, so that the guy can laugh at him. He casts Jason a withering glare.

Jason doesn't budge. With a lopsided smile, he says, ‘You know, you and her actually get along pretty well. I didn’t really take you for a dog person.’

‘I’m not,’ Nico answers honestly. And he surprises even himself when he continues, ‘Just Mrs. O’Leary.’

Because, in spite of the silly reasoning behind him taking on Mrs. O’Leary, she has quietly but surely crept into his life, steadily intertwining herself with it until she became a constant, comforting companion that he can come home to everyday, and gods know how long it has been since he’s had anything like that. He doesn’t know when he stopped thinking of taking care of her as a daily chore, another tick on his to-do list. Filling her food bowl, greeting her in the morning, typing out an essay on this very couch while she’s sitting next to him and chomping on that duck – it’s all become a natural part of his day-to-day life, and he doesn’t mind it at all. Likes it, even. 

‘She has that effect on people,’ Percy chimes in, setting down the chairs and gesturing for Annabeth to take a seat.

‘Yeah,’ Nico agrees, and finds that his voice is oddly raw. ‘Yeah.’

‘Seriously, though,’ Percy begins, looking Nico in the eyes. ‘Thanks for everything, Nico. I knew I could trust you with her and, well, you didn’t let me down. Or her.’

Then Percy smiles at him.

And as they start eating, hands reaching out for the pizza with their desired toppings on it, Nico chews and considers the irrefutable fact that his cheeks are not reddening, his stomach is not fluttering, his heart is not thrumming wildly against his ribcage. The fact that he feels happy, yeah, but only because he’s followed through on what he committed himself to, because he’s fulfilled someone’s trust in him and what he got in return for it – Mrs. O’Leary’s enlivening presence in his sparse, vacant apartment and life – is worth a thousandfold and more of what he put in.

The fact that maybe this means that he is at last, finally, truly over Percy Jackson.

 

 

 

Monday brings with it a post-it note in cheery neon green and a weight inside Nico lifts.

Nico absolutely does not dash over to his dining table. He walks over there at a totally reasonable pace and, with Mrs. O’Leary yapping heartily in the background, reads the note.

_What do you call a sick dog?_

_A Germy Shepherd!_

This is supplemented by a picture of a German Shepherd with a thermometer sticking out of its mouth, to really drive the joke home. And underneath that:

_I hope you two have not been too saddened by my sudden absence :) but fear not, for I am back and feeling better than ever!_

Note in hand, Nico walks over to his room and drops it in bedside drawer where the rest of the notes are kept. Well, Will’s notes, anyway. He kinda threw Ethan’s ones away. Hopefully the guy doesn’t mind.

In the kitchen, Mrs. O’Leary is still bouncing around and barking endlessly. Wasn’t the half the point of these walks to rid her of excess energy?

‘Yes, yes,’ he calls out to her, sliding his drawer shut. ‘I feel you.’

And with that, he allows himself a small smile.

 

 

 

This is probably the stupidest idea he’s had since… well. Okay, he’s had a lot of stupid ideas in the past few weeks, but this one? It takes the cake, cherry on top and all.

Biting his lip, he sets down his own note on the table. The paper, carelessly torn out of his spiral-bound notebook, betrays the amount of thought that he’s put into this idea. It's kept him up all night, and he’s pretty sure half the reason why he ended up deciding to go through with it is because his brain is addled from sleep deprivation.

Nico restrains himself from crumpling the note up and tossing it in the bin before anyone else gets to read it. Whatever. It’ll be okay. Worst case scenario: Will refuses. Which isn’t even that bad, right?

Turning on his heels, he says goodbye to Mrs. O’Leary, who barks back at him, and promptly leaves.

Nine hours later, he returns to find three post-it notes, stuck in a row, on his table, which is, y’know, _some_ thing. He’s just not quite sure whether it's a good thing, or the opposite.

He braces himself, and marches over to the kitchen.

_Nico di Angelo, if you’d been so taken with my infinitely charming personality, you could’ve just said so!_

Following that foolhardy declaration is a picture of a poodle wearing sunglasses. It takes up the entirety of the first note so, letting out an irritated sigh, Nico trudges onwards to the next one.

_In all seriousness, I really am incredibly honoured that you think me fit to be the sole bearer of your spare key. I understand your concern over the ease with which strangers can enter your apartment, so please be rest assured that my pocket is a substantially safer hiding place for your key than underneath your doormat. Which, now that I have written that down, probably doesn’t sound like much. I added your key to the keychain holding the ones to my house, so no one will be getting their hands on it unless I lose my own keys, and that hasn’t happened since I was thirteen._

_As you pointed out, this is probably against agency rules since it poses a problem for replacement walkers. Luckily for us both, I am a rebel at heart, and your safety from potential robbers is my priority. If I get sick again, or won’t be available for any reason, I’ll personally contact you on the number you gave the agency. We can arrange a solution together._

Nico checks underneath his doormat for good measure. The key is gone.

He walks back through the front door and closes it behind him.

It’s not as if Nico hasn’t been genuinely concerned over the exponentially heightened possibility of a burglary over the past couple of weeks, seeing as his key is, for half the week, left in literally the most obvious place for anyone to leave a spare key. He tells himself that _that_ is why he is handing over his key to Will, the most non-stranger stranger he knows, for the foreseeable future.

That, plus the fact that Mrs. O’Leary apparently does not take well to anyone else walking her.

He ignores the voice in his head telling him that is not it, at all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> upon my proofread of the chapter, it occured to me that people could think nico was gonna be asking will out.... sorry if i got your hopes up! we're not quite there yet
> 
> i'm going to be flying to sydney tomorrow and will be on holiday there for two weeks - catching up with friends, a road trip, graduating.... all that good stuff. this story will be on the backburner in the meantime, so see you all again in a couple of weeks! the next chapter should be really fun :)


	4. Chapter 4

Nico’s eyes open, blearily, and all he sees is a limitless expanse of darkness. It’s not often that he wakes up before the sunlight is creeping through the gaps in his curtain, but this is apparently one of those instances.

His head is throbbing like hell, his body overheated to its absolute limits, and Nico is generally feeling like death. His throat, parched to the point of pain, calls itself to his attention.

Water. That is probably why his body had felt compelled to wake itself up.

He treads out of his bed and towards the door. With one hand on the knob, he turns it and pushes the door outwards, and almost finds himself walking straight into the door when it doesn’t open. His entire body jerks to a stop, and he stands there for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He fumbles a little, delirious, in an attempt to find the lock, before his hand grazes a protruding surface under the doorknob. He unlocks the door, opens it, and finally manages to succeed in the trying ordeal of getting out of his bedroom.

The kitchen tiles are freezing underneath his feet, but they do little to cool him down. He pads over to the drying rack next to the sink, grasping blindly, hand almost knocking over a plate before his fingers find their way to a glass.

He groans as he opens the fridge, shutting his eyes to the glare of its blinding light before gingerly opening them a sliver, just wide enough for him to spy the jug of water. Grabbing its handle, he pulls it off the shelf and closes the door of fridge with his foot. This, unsurprisingly, turns out to be a bad decision, because not having both feet glued to the floor is evidently enough to unsettle his balance. Nothing is going right for him tonight.

He tumbles backwards, tipping over, but his fall is broken by his dining table, which is conveniently situated right behind him. It is the first time Nico feels grateful for the lack of space in this cramped, single-person apartment, which had forced him to place his table so close to the fridge.

His hipbone burns from the impact and there are white spots flickering in his vision, but still – better a bruised hip than water and shattered glass all over the floor. If the latter had happened, with his luck tonight, he would probably have ended up slipping while trying to clean up the mess, cutting himself on the million shards of glass, and bleeding to death.

He seats himself and, vision still impaired, pours water into the glass, trying to gauge by ear how close to full it is getting. The only other sounds stirring the still air are his own heaving breaths and Mrs. O’Leary’s quiet exhales. He stops at what feels like an inch from the top, and brings the glass to his lips.

His throat feels knifed by a thousand tiny pinpricks with every swallow. Still, he finishes the cup and forces down a second for good measure.

Nico massages his temple, his fingertips passing over the plains of his skull and feeling, acutely, the veins pulsing beneath his skin. His head is still pounding, a bright flash of pain with every throb, and, closing his eyes, he lays it down against the cool expanse of the table.

 

 

 

He sleeps through the clink of the key turning the lock and misses the too-long pause between the door swinging open, almost a spring in its step, and then being carefully, cautiously, closed.

His ears do, however, prick up at the sound of what appears to be a failed attempt at whispering, making out the words, ‘What’s with him?’, and Nico lifts his head to see some guy running a hand through blonde hair and staring down at Mrs. O’Leary as if, any minute now, she would answer in intelligible human language.

Right. It’s Sunday. That’s why his bedroom door was locked last night.

Fuck.

He drops his head back onto the table and the thump it elicits is probably loud enough to alert Will to the fact that Nico is awake. Which – gods, he really does not want to do this right now. He half-wishes that he had knocked his head hard enough to lose consciousness, but going for a second try at that might not be the best first impression.

‘Hey,’ he hears Will call out. Nico keeps his mouth shut and his forehead plastered to the table. Maybe if he keeps pretending this isn’t happening, then –

‘I’m Will,’ adds Will, loudly. ‘By the way.’

Okay, it’s still happening.

‘Yeah, I figured,’ Nico mumbles to the table. Well. If he can’t ignore the situation into oblivion, he might as well abandon the ostrich technique and face it head on. He sits up and, peeling his forehead from the tabletop, raises his head.

He meets Will’s eyes, and is reminded all over again that this, after all the notes and the half-cold coffees and the keys and that one glimpse, on that day in the park when the mid-morning sun had shined just right and Will’s hair and complexion and smile had seemed to glow – this is the first time that they have really, truly, met.

This is not exactly Nico’s ideal meet-cute.

He doesn’t need a mirror to know he looks absolutely dreadful. He can feel sweat slick down his chest and his back and all over his scalp, sticking his hair into clumps. He can imagine the deathly pallor, several shades too white and too green, that he knows, from past experience, his skin turns into at times like this. His eye bags, already horrible on his eight-hours-of-sleep days, are likely even worse right now. He probably looks right at home on the set of a zombie apocalypse movie.

Will, on the other hand, with his cheeks faintly flushed from the early morning chill and his wind-tousled hair and his sunlit eyes, looks like he’s walked straight out of some feel-good rom-com flick where he plays the resident heartthrob.

‘You must be Nico,’ Will says conversationally.

‘Yeah,’ Nico replies, or at least tries to. It comes out more like a half-guttural sandpaper rasp, and his throat is stinging from just uttering that one word.

‘Maybe drink some water,’ Will helpfully supplies. ‘You should probably sleep some more too.’

‘I was actually kind of in the middle of that,’ Nico says, trying to hold back the wave of irritation crashing over his initial embarrassment, ‘before you trespassed onto my property.’

‘You gave me the keys to this place,’ Will points out, walking over. ‘Also, coming here is a part of my job description. The very job you hired me to do.’ A smile, easy and open, dangles on his face, which is suddenly looking right down at Nico.

He finds Will’s palm pressed firmly against his forehead, and he feels a burning heat creeping up his neck which he knows has nothing to do with how terrible he’s been feeling all night.

Will’s eyes crinkle, flinching, and Nico’s heart swoops down to his stomach. Even with his lack of people skills, he knows that flinching after initiating physical contact (for the first time!) is not a good sign.

‘I was kind of hoping you were just having a really bad hangover,’ Will admits, hand dropping back to his side.

‘Yeah, I don’t think that’s it,’ Nico offers, trying not to think about their physical proximity. It’s not too difficult of a task, seeing as he’s finding it pretty hard to actually think at all right now.

‘Do you mind opening your mouth?’ Will asks, his right hand snaking around to his back pocket. To Nico’s credit, he does pause to think that it’s kind of weird some guy he’s just met is telling him to open his mouth, but his body goes along with it, his mouth ajar before he’s had time to process this. Three seconds later, his eyes are squinting shut, instinctively fighting off the light from the back of the phone Will is now holding up inches away from Nico’s mouth.

‘You have a pretty high fever, so you’d best get back to that sleeping thing you were doing before I came in soon. No unusual signs down your throat though, so seems like you just have the usual sore throat.’ Will’s not even looking at him now, his finger tapping at his phone screen, presumably turning off his flashlight app.

Holy shit. Will just peered down his throat. Nico is not quite sure that even under normal circumstances, he would be able to understand what’s happening right now. Maybe it’s not too late for him to try slamming his head on the table and knocking himself out.

Instead, he asks, ‘Do you play pretend doctor with every dog owner you work for? Or am I just special?’

Will hums. ‘Funnily enough, I don’t tend to run into many owners slumped over their dining table looking like they’re five seconds away from dying, so this is actually the first time I’ve had to whip out my pretend doctor skills.’ He reaches out for the jug from last night that Nico had almost killed himself trying to acquire, pours water into the cup next to it, and hands it over.

‘Good to see them come in handy though,’ Will continues, nodding satisfied as Nico gruffly gulps it down, ‘seeing as I’ve thrown a lot of stupid money at college so I can be certified to play doctor.’

Nico’s brain processes that sentence in the pause between the words leaving Will’s mouth and him putting down his cup.

‘Wait,’ Nico begins, comprehending. ‘So you’re, like, an actual doctor? Is the job market so bad that walking my dog four times a week was the only job opening you could find?’

‘Nah, I’m not quite there yet,’ Will says, one corner of his smile higher than the other. It’s a weirdly cute look on him. ‘I’m still in first year of med school. I just do this because it’s good exercise and I get financially compensated to play around with dogs. Also, I get to meet new people, improve those bedside skills for my future career. What’s not to love?’

Nico is about to tell him that his bedside skills really need some work when he hears a low whine and soft scrapes. Looking past Will, he sees Mrs. O’Leary nudging her food bowl towards the two of them.

‘Shit.’ Normally he fills the food bowl beforehand on Saturday night due to his late waking hours on Sundays, but he must’ve forgotten last night. With two palms flat on the tabletop, he pushes himself off his chair and, at once, in a cruel inversion of last night’s events, topples forward. He manages to brace himself with his arm against the table, averting the fall and barely avoiding a collision between his face and the glass sitting on the table.

He’s seriously considering replacing all the glassware in this apartment with plastic. It’ll probably extend his life expectancy.

‘Whoa, now,’ Will murmurs, taking ahold of Nico’s free arm and hoisting it over his shoulder.

It’s too quiet and they are too close. Nico can hear each breath Will takes, each subsequent exhale, as Will steadies him, an anchor to a ship rocking in open sea. Nico hates how easily Will seems to bear his weight.

‘I’ll handle that,’ Will says, eyeing Mrs. O’Leary’s empty bowl. ‘But let’s get you into an actual bed first, shall we?’

So many words are teetering on Nico’s tongue now, almost tipping over into forming snarky retorts, but he finds himself deprived of the energy to usher them into being. Instead, he allows himself to be led back into his room, focusing his concentration on putting one feet in front of the other, and again, and again, and again, until they reach his bed.

Will is smoothing the duvet over Nico’s shoulders and he wants to protest, to say that nobody but his mother and Bianca is allowed to do this, but his eyes are already closing.

‘But, to answer your question from earlier,’ and Will’s voice is amused and hazy and distant to Nico’s ear, and it reminds him of long, lazy, sunny afternoons, ‘you are just special.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was one of the first scenes i had in mind when conceiving of this story, and it's only taken us four chapters to get here. i've tweaked and rewritten it so many times, and i'm still not entirely happy with it, but eventually i decided i needed to move on because the next chapter will not write itself


	5. Chapter 5

Nico’s eyes flicker open, blinking groggily once, twice. He sees on his ceiling a diffused shaft of orange, soft and translucent, the consequence of dusk peering through his half-closed curtains and alighting the room in an ephemeral sunset glow. 

Bracing his elbow underneath his body, Nico attempts to sit up, and finds he cannot. What he also finds is that it is getting rather hard to breathe.

He looks down and comes face-to-face with Mrs. O’Leary, eyes closed and rhythmically blowing little puffs of air at his chin, lying across his chest. He blinks again, once, twice, before understanding settles across his face and affection simmers in his heart, full to the point of spilling over. He runs a hand across her coat several times, inhaling the moment, before gently prying her from his body and moving her to his side. Her breathing remains even. Air flows into his lungs easier than before, but already he feels a little emptier.

He presses the home button on his phone and the screen flashes the time at him – it’s a little past five. Next to the phone, there’s a glass of water and a box of pills and an orange, all of them meticulously arranged. And a note. Of course, a note.

_Take the pills three times a day before meals. I got you enough food for two meals, so lunch and dinner, or dinner and breakfast, depending on when you wake up, I guess – do not eat those instant noodles I saw in your cupboard, doctor’s orders._

_Mrs. O’Leary was very down today. When we got back, she wouldn’t stop clawing at your bedroom door, so I left it open for her to go in and see you – hope that’s okay :)_

There’s a cartoon of Mrs. O’Leary at the bottom of the note, frowning sadly. The likeness is, as usual, impressive. Will must’ve been at the top of his art class in middle school.

Nico takes the medicine, eats the orange, and leaves Mrs. O’Leary snoring soundly in his bed. True to the note, two large takeaway cups of chicken soup have miraculously appeared in his fridge.

The room buzzes with the soft whirring of the microwave, and while waiting for it to adequately heat up his soup, Nico considers the fact that he has slept practically the entire day away. He sees in his mind’s eye the piles upon piles of schoolwork he has to get done – a paper due on Wednesday, another on Friday. He remembers the notifications on his phone screen – Bianca, Hazel, even Reyna – but he’d left the phone next to his bed and he feels too worn and heavy to make the tedious nine-step trip back to the room from which he had just exited.

Most importantly, he thinks of how his recollection of this morning is a swirling blur of water jugs and blonde hair. He doesn’t remember much.

He wishes he remembered more.

He lets his eyelids rest, fluttering shut, and the savoury warmth of the soup’s aroma envelopes his senses. For a moment, he sees himself, eight years old and in bed with a scorching hot forehead, and his mother, dark brown tendrils of hair tucked loosely behind her ears, falling in strands across her shoulder as she moves to spoon him soup.

The microwave dings. He’s back in his apartment.

He seats himself, and begins to eat.

 

 

 

Slowly but surely, Nico recovers.

Come Monday morning, he has regained enough strength to drag himself to destinations farther than the kitchen, and so is able to make his way to class. His days pass by in a monochrome reel of school and homework, school and homework, briefly but consistently punctuated by neon squares and brightly-coloured fruit – the latter due to Will having taken to leaving behind a different citrus each day, adding some literal zest to Nico’s life. And so, by Friday evening, through a combination of decent hours of sleep, dinners that did not consist of either instant noodles or fast food, and the vitamin c usually missing from his typical college student diet, Nico is feeling just about as well as he had prior to his cold. Which is to say, not very much, but enough.

So there he is, sitting on his couch, reassuring a concerned Bianca via text that yes, he is fine now and no, there is no need for her to drive down this weekend to check up on him, when the phone in his hand emits a short vibration accompanied by a sharp, tinny sound, alerting him to the astonishing fact that there are two people within his minuscule group of acquaintances contacting him at the same time.

It’s an unknown number, and Nico’s heart starts thumping traitorously, expectant.

_Hey, sorry for the late notice, but something’s come up on Sunday morning for me. Do you mind if I come over tomorrow evening instead? – Will_

He puts his phone down next to him, deciding to wait a certain interval of time before replying. He eyes the trash can, and thinks of the mandarin peels within, from the fruit he’d found sitting atop his dinner table upon his return from class. He glances over at Mrs. O’Leary, gnawing on a plastic duck.

Gods, his hands are itching.

After ten more seconds of looking blandly around the room, silent except for the distant tinkling of rain, he comes to the conclusion that perhaps answering the message within two minutes will give the better impression after all. Picking his phone up, he types out a curt reply in the affirmative and sends it, before throwing it back down onto the couch and squeezing his eyes shut.

If Will comes in the evening… Is Nico supposed to be here when he arrives? He has met Will exactly once, and that was an accident, unexpected on both sides. Nico is usually home in the evenings, weekdays and weekends, and it seems, objectively, somewhat silly for him to alter his usual Saturday schedule in order to sustain the lack of face-to-face encounters that has come to define this relationship.

On the other hand, Nico’s stomach is somersaulting, in a bad way, at the thought of seeing Will again.

The phone buzzes, and Nico almost bites his tongue at the sudden sound, but it is only Bianca.

 

 

 

Walking up the stairs two steps at a time, Nico rummages in his pocket for his house keys, several bags of groceries clutched in his other hand.

Despite the sunshine, there is a certain dampness in the air, at once a remnant of yesterday’s prolonged rainfall and a harbinger of a repeat today. Will is not meant to come for the next couple of hours, and it’s looking more and more likely that Mrs. O’Leary might not be getting that walk after all.

When Nico gets to his floor, he sees a figure standing in front of his door, phone in hand, poised to type.

‘Hey,’ Nico calls out, mostly to announce his arrival, and Percy turns around, smile already blooming across his face.

‘Hey,’ Percy greets warmly. ‘Sorry to drop by without warning. I was in the neighbourhood, and well…’

Pushing his key into the lock, Nico nods, understanding. ‘It’s okay. She misses you too.’

He opens the door and turns around to signal Percy to enter, when he realises that Percy is staring hard in the direction of the stairwell. Nico follows his gaze, and his heart stutters, plummeting when he sees a mop of floppy blond hair walking up towards them.

Good gods. Nico’s breath quickens and his hands, without thinking, pull the door back towards him, closing it. His mind races as Will raises a hand in greeting. Of all people to run into Will. _Percy_. Nico opens his mouth – he has to get the first word in, establish a plausible story in which Will is definitely not a guy Nico is paying to walk Percy’s dog, hopes to the gods Will plays along, except –

'Will?' says Percy. 

'Percy!' says Will. 

'What,' says Nico. 

He stares uncomprehendingly as Will and Percy move to give one another a one-armed hug, thumping each other on the back good-naturedly.

He hears Will’s exclamations of _oh my gods, Percy, you know Nico?_ and Percy talking about how far back him and Nico go, and about Mrs. O’Leary, and Will laughing, because of course the dog raised by the best swimmer at camp would follow her owner’s footsteps in that regard.

‘She really is great at it, isn’t she?’ Percy chuckles, wheeling around on his heels to face Nico. ‘We went to summer camp together for a few years,’ he says, by way of explanation, ‘from middle school to high school.’

Will smiles wryly. ‘It’s a small world.’

‘So you come by Nico’s often?’ Percy asks. ‘Is that how you’ve witnessed Mrs. O’Leary’s swimming prowess?’

‘He’s a friend,’ Nico interjects, decidedly not looking at Will, ‘who likes dogs. A lot. So he comes by sometimes to walk Mrs. O’Leary with me.’ _Voluntarily_ , Nico is about to stress, _not for a wage_ , but he manages to bite his tongue in time.

‘Yeah,’ Will pipes in, and Nico cranes his neck to look at the bemused smile playing on Will’s lips. Does he understand this precarious situation? ‘I really like dogs.’

‘Oh,’ says Percy. ‘How’d you guys meet?’

‘At the park,’ Nico says in practiced nonchalance, though his heart is beating faster with every lie spewing out of his mouth. ‘When I was walking Mrs. O’Leary this one time.’ He hopes it sounds to Percy as if Nico’s walked her a thousand times, the ideal pet owner, and not, as in reality, exactly once.

Percy nods, and Nico longs to be out of here. His spontaneous, paper-thin story cannot hold up to any further cross-examination.

‘We should go soon,’ he addresses Will’s general direction, not meeting the latter’s eyes. ‘Maybe right now. Looks like it’s going rain in a couple of hours.’

Will, rocking on his heels and watching with interest, hums in agreement. He turns to Percy.

‘Do you want to come with?’ he asks, and Nico gapes at him.

Something like understanding is glinting in Percy’s eyes. Though understanding about what, exactly, Nico is not sure.

‘It’s okay,’ Percy says with a lopsided grin, ‘I’ll just say hi to her and be on my way. I should be getting home soon, anyway.’

And so, ten minutes later, after Mrs. O’Leary had happily jumped on Percy and slobbered all over his face, the four of them make their way downstairs.

‘Have fun,’ Percy calls out from his car. Will waves goodbye lazily in reply, and Nico follows suit, a little glumly.

Right. _Fun_ , Nico thinks, looking down at Mrs. O’Leary’s wagging tail.

‘So,’ Will says, starting off in the direction of the park, ‘shall we?’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is literally just me putting these two in the most clichéd situations i can. 
> 
> also, i finally sat my ass down and started planning things properly for this fic! the amount of chapters has been solidified, and i roughly know now how this will end, which will hopefully allow the next few chapters to come out at a better pace.


	6. Chapter 6

Mrs. O’Leary leads the way, tail wagging and head held high. Leash in hand, Nico keeps his eyes trained on her to avoid looking to his left. He half-manages to fool himself into believing it’s just him and his dog, out for a typical walk on a typical Sunday afternoon, right up until the moment the person he’s pretending does not exist starts talking to him. That sort of ruins the illusion.

‘So,’ Will begins, easy and nonchalant. They’re standing on the side of the street, waiting for the light to change. Nico resists the urge to fidget. ‘You know Percy, huh?’

Mrs. O’Leary lets out a bark at the sound of Percy’s name. 

‘Yes,’ says Nico, curt. 

‘I thought Mrs. O’Leary looked familiar, the first time I saw her,’ Will continues. He sounds thoughtful. Nico’s not quite sure whether Will’s face reflects the tone in his voice, since he’s still decidedly not looking in Will’s general direction. ‘I remember now – there were photos on Percy’s Facebook, way back when.’

For a moment, Nico wonders whether Will recognised Nico’s face or name from any pictures Percy might’ve posted on Facebook before remembering that one, he has an abject hatred of having his picture taken and is therefore hardly ever present in any photos taken at group gatherings and also two, he doesn’t actually have Facebook and so can’t be tagged in anything.

‘Oh,’ Nico says instead. He can feel Will’s eyes on him.

‘You can go back, you know,’ Will offers, jolting Nico out of his self-induced pretense at isolation. He turns wide-eyed to Will, who only shrugs. ‘Percy’s gone home. You can, too.’

‘It’s my dog,’ Nico states, planting his feet firmly on the ground despite, five minutes ago, wishing he was back home. ‘I have a right to be here.’

‘Of course you do.’ Will’s eyes are twinkling, as if to say it’s really not that serious. Or at least that’s how Nico is interpreting it. Gods, this is why he was trying to stick to one-word answers earlier. ‘Well, I was just giving you an out – I’m happy to spend the next hour with you if you are, too.’

And this is how, after months of passing notes back and forth (mostly forth, Nico’s pretty sure he only wrote back four times at most), Nico finally manages to land his first date with Will the dog walker.

‘So,’ Will prompts again, ‘from what I saw up there, I’m assuming you forgot to mention to Percy that you hired somebody to walk your dog. His dog. Is this joint ownership? I’m still a little fuzzy on this.’ 

‘She’s my dog. I thought we covered this two seconds ago,’ Nico says flatly. But he breathes out and adds, more softly, ‘His new apartment didn’t allow dogs, so I took over a couple of months ago. So I guess she’s mine full-time, now.’ The lights have changed, and they’re crossing the street as he addresses the question implicit in Will’s words and says, ‘And no, I didn’t forget.’

The street is loud with the faint roars of engines and wafts of indistinct conversations, but it’s the short pause in conversation that roars in Nico’s ears. 

‘Huh,’ Will says, mulling on this confirmation, turning Nico’s words, or perhaps just the last three words, over in his mind. ‘I see.’ There’s a slight but certain furrowing of his brows and pursing of his lips that makes it seem like he might have said something else, and Nico shields himself for its eventual emergence, for the millions of ways this conversation might turn in the next five seconds, but nothing comes.

Why? is the natural extension of this conversation. Why, then? Why not? Why didn’t you tell him? Nico’s brain rushes through all possible answers, from the ones that are real yet embarrassing to those fake but socially acceptable, but Will continues walking, silent but for his sure footsteps, and so Nico keeps mum. 

The park’s not far from Nico’s place, and the weather is still holding up by the time they arrive. The clouds hang low and grey, blocking the sun, diffusing and softening its bright rays. The park looks different, in this light. There’s a certain dulled clarity to the surroundings, and while the green of the trees is darker, dampened with shadows, the edges of their silhouette glint back at him, knife-sharp. 

Mrs. O’Leary, a properly trained dog, does not run wildly around the two of them and end up tangling them with her leash, which is, y’know, a definite plus in his books. It’s always good to be reminded that his life is not actually a romcom, which is what it’s been feeling a lot like lately. What happens instead is that he sees Will reaching into the pocket of his jacket and fishing out a red ball.

‘Here,’ says Will, holding out the ball towards Nico, who silently accepts it. Their hands touch, yes, but that is what tends to happen when people hand things to one another. It’s no big deal. Really.

He throws the ball, an underarm throw, and it flies across the field, covering what he feels is a respectable distance. This is, Nico notes passively, probably the first time he has managed to accomplish something non-embarrassing in Will’s presence. He deserves a pat on the back or something. 

Mrs. O’Leary sprints after it and returns, ball slopping with saliva in her mouth. Nico shrugs, tilting his head to indicate it is Will’s turn to play pitcher. Ball in hand and left arm bent up for balance, Will arches back his right arm, then swings it forward with what looks like all his strength. The ball falls flatly ten feet from them. Mrs. O’Leary retrieves it in three leaps.

Will actually laughs out loud, hearty and full-bodied, at Nico’s unbelieving stare. ‘I wasn’t very good at sports in high school,’ says Will gamely, the earnest, close-lipped smile on his face making Nico feel as if Will is letting him in on a secret, rather than stating a fact that literally anybody with eyes could have, in that moment, discerned for themselves.

And he is so swept along by this air of shared confidences that he finds himself saying what has been on the tip of his tongue the entire walk here: ‘Thank you,’ he says, his voice a notch too high, belying his practiced nonchalance. And then, for clarification, he adds, ‘For earlier.’

‘For handing you the ball?’ Will asks. Nico opens his mouth to retaliate, before comprehending the tease underlying the words and seeing Will’s grin shift into a soft smile, and stills himself. There’s a lull before Will turns back to Mrs. O’Leary, who is nudging his hand with the ball still in her mouth, and says, ‘No problem.’

For earlier, when Nico had said it, was meant to refer to Will jiving along with Nico’s harried cover story, or at least him not saying anything that directly contradicted whatever stupid thing Nico had sprouted out. But really, there are so many things that had taken place earlier, days and weeks and months earlier, that Will deserves to be thanked for. The fruits, the soup, the medicine. The notes. For caring enough, above and beyond. But Nico is not the elaborating type, and anyway, the moment has passed, so he reaches over and snatches the ball just as Mrs. O’Leary is about to drop it into Will’s waiting hands.

‘My turn,’ Nico announces, and throws the ball high into the sky, the red vibrant against the vast greying blue and the dull, dirtied white of the clouds, and he laughs and laughs as he hears Mrs. O’Leary’s ecstatic yelps and Will’s indignant cries. 

 

 

 

They don’t stay for very long. The air gets progressively heavier, promising impending rain, and Mrs. O’Leary tires herself out quickly with all her jumping and running, so they decide to call it a day and head home.

‘She’s not usually quite so active,’ Will says and, with a knowing smile, adds, ‘Wonder what brought on the change.’ 

Nico shrugs, feigned ignorance betrayed by the smile hanging at the corner of his lips, and instead says, ‘You don’t have to come back with us. Just head home – you don’t want to be caught out in this rain.’

‘Your place is on the way,’ Will assures Nico. He looks up, and sees that there is not a sliver of the sky to be found among the thick clusters of darkened clouds. ‘Looks like it’s gonna be worse than yesterday’s.’

They’re turning the corner to Nico’s building when they start feeling drops of water lightly wetting on their face. Nico scoops up Mrs. O’Leary and thirty seconds later, after a desperate sprint the likes of which neither of them had done since gym class in high school, they’re safely under cover, making their way up the numerous flight of stairs to Nico’s apartment while the rain thunders around them. Mrs. O’Leary whimpers, shaking her head against Nico’s chest, and he presses her closer.

Seeing that Nico has his hands full with dog, Will gets out the key and lets them into the apartment. He does it with an ease that comes naturally through repetition and habit, and it sends a thrilling shiver up Nico’s spine. He breathes in, and wonders if Mrs. O’Leary can hear the erratic beats of his heart.

Once inside, the first thing that Nico notices is the noise. It is worse than yesterday’s, although admittedly heavy, drizzle. The rain is pounding hard against his window, relentless in its rhythmic attack, and it sounds as if the glass might break within the next ten seconds. The view outside the window is a hazy and drizzly, mottled grey and white, with nothing further than five feet away visible through the thick rain and fogged-up glass. He stands there with Will next to him, almost shoulder to shoulder, echoes of distant thunder in the background, both realising at once that it is idiotic, if not downright impossible, to go out in this weather. 

There’s a silence, the sort of general awkwardness borne from a customary expectation of a polite offer, a hesitant reluctance to offer it, and a full understanding of the predicament by both parties involved.

Nico puts his dog down, and she scampers off, making a beeline to the toy duck that she’d left in the corner of the room this afternoon. She picks it up in her mouth and heads to her bed, curling herself around the little toy. 

Okay. So this is really happening. Forget what he said earlier about his life not being a romcom. 

‘It's raining really hard,’ Nico notes, and tries to avoid thinking about how dumb he sounds.

‘Yes,’ Will replies helpfully, ‘it really is.’

Well – Nico might as well just get this out of his mouth, over and done with.

‘How about,’ he says, and wills himself not to outwardly sigh at his life in general, ‘you stay here for a bit? Until the rain stops.’

The rain doesn’t stop until the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... you know what i said about updates coming out at a better pace? pretend i never said that. 
> 
> this chapter has been delayed because i unexpectedly got an internship. that's done now, but i'm also moving overseas (!!) at the end of this week to start a post-grad course, so i'm gonna be pretty busy over the next month or so. i won't be abandoning this, so don't worry! thank you for all the comments too, i know i'm pretty late at replying but i do read and appreciate every single one of them and they motivate me to eke out some free time to write! :)


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